by Melissa Jane
“Please come back, Daddy,” I barely manage, choking on sobs. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I need you to hear me say, I love you, Dad. I need you here… with me. I promise I’ll look after you better. I promise. Just please… please, come back to me. I miss… I miss you so, so much. Please… come back.”
~
I don’t remember the rest of the day. I missed the entire wake. Apparently, according to my mother, I passed out with ‘emotional exhaustion’ beside the coffin, but not before unkindly telling the gravediggers to fuck off. She also mentioned that Jacob retrieved me, carrying me back to the car and then up the stairs once we got home.
I don’t remember a thing because had I have known Jacob was carrying me, I would have also told him with deliberate unkindness to fuck off. Still in bed the next morning, unable to sleep and staring at my father’s face looking back at me from the picture framed on my bedside, I listen to the sound of voices, gentle at first, unable to make out what they’re saying until they grow louder, more aggressive and more abusive.
I hear Jim Lynch’s voice booming obscenities, ignorant to the whole street hearing his abuse. Springing from bed, I run to my window in time to see Mrs. Lynch closing the passenger door. And then I see Jacob, slamming shut the trunk, and then unperturbed by the vile threats, walk past his piece-of-shit father because he’s taking the driver’s seat.
I frown, staring hard into the backseat of the Dodge. Boxes and suitcases are stacked without an inch of room left with no doubt more in the trunk.
“Where are you going?” I whisper.
Jacob turns the ignition letting the Dodge roar to life before glancing up through the window. My heart lurches. His face is blank, completely empty of the Jacob I used to know—the Jacob who convinced me to fall in love with him. He stoically holds my gaze as if he’s staring at a complete stranger. And then he pulls out of the driveway and disappears down the street.
I run to my bedside table and snatch my phone. Nothing. No message. No call.
What do I expect exactly? The guy left me in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, and I think he’d extend the courtesy in telling me where he’s going?
“That was your mistake from the very beginning, Rosie,” I chide myself out loud. “Putting your heart on the line only for it to be crushed.” I turn back to the frame next to the bed. “I should have listened to you, Dad.” And begrudgingly, my mother deserves some credit for her own warning. “Boys like Jacob Lynch won’t just break your heart, they’ll light the match and watch your whole world burn to the ground.”
~
Three days and nothing.
Jacob and his mom never return home. I suppose a part of me is surprised they haven’t. The other part is cheering for Mrs. Lynch that she finally got out before he killed her. I haven’t left the house since the day they put my father in his grave. But when I hear a strange banging, I’m once again at the window spying at the house across the street. Mr. Lynch in on the footpath straightening up a sign he’s partially hammered into the ground. By the time I cross the road, he’s still struggling with it muttering curses.
“Mr. Lynch,” I call, but he’s either too focused on what he’s doing, or he’s choosing to ignore me. Hugging my sweater despite the blazing heat, I try again. “Mr. Lynch, do you have a moment?”
Bang.
After he lowers his hammer, he glances up and looks me over.
Bang.
“Well, look who’s risen from the dead.”
Ouch. Too soon to joke, even for this douchebag.
Bang.
“You should at least brush your hair and make yourself presentable.”
Choosing to ignore his jibes, I continue with why I left the safety of my room to cross the street. “Mr. Lynch, when is Jacob coming home?”
He points to the sign, which for some absurd reason, I haven’t yet read. Goes to show how nervous I am about talking to the man. “Can’t you read, girl? What home? He and his mother have fucked off, and good riddance to them.”
Bang.
I stare at the ‘For Sale’ sign, and no doubt in Mr. Lynch’s eyes, I look like a dimwit. “Well, where’d they go?”
“Sweetie,” he patronizes. “I don’t give a flying fuck. And I’ll give you a piece of advice, you shouldn’t give a flying fuck either.”
“Well, I guess that’s what makes you and me so different.”
“I wouldn’t be putting yourself up there on a pedestal, little Rosie. After all, he didn’t tell you where he was going or that he was leaving in the first place.”
That hurts. Because it’s true.
I turn to leave because I’ve wasted enough time on the asshole. When he calls my name, I stop but don’t turn around. “Sorry about your dad. That’s two men in one week who’ve let you down. Can’t be easy.” I bristle at his derogatory words toward my father.
I spin on my heel, rage boiling my blood. “My father did not let me down, and how dare you suggest he did.”
Mr. Lynch stops and eyes me curiously, a dawning moment briefly altering his expression. “Sure, kid. Anyway…” he says, changing tone, “… you should thank your lucky stars my son fucked off.”
Is he baiting me?
“Oh, yeah, and why’s that?”
“Because it seems all those closest to you, including Jacob, have been lying to your face.”
18
NOW
“Wait!” A wide-eyed Vicki clutches Jacob’s arm. “You two know each other?”
Staring into the eyes of my arch-nemesis, I’m first to reply. “Unfortunately, so.”
“This shit is just too weird. I mean, here we were just talking about how the bride and groom parties are secretly… hashtag not-so-secretly, planning a pre-wedding orgy, and how you and Jacob are the only ones unattached, and yet you actually know each other.” She claps her hands together in excitement. “So, now, you can both join the orgy.” She laughs hysterically, completely missing the social cues.
“What part of unfortunately did you not understand, Vicki?” But it’s too late, she’s already trotting over to Jase to tell him of her excellent news. I sigh. “What the hell are you doing here, Jacob?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says in a less accusatory tone.
“I’m the maid of honor.”
“I’m the best man.”
“Well, this is shit!”
“Is it?”
“Isn’t it?” I grunt in frustration. “I… this… this can’t… Vicki!” I yell across the room, finally earning her attention. Her smile fades, and as she glances between us, she finally realizes there’s history between Jacob and me, and it may not necessarily be a good one. “Vicky, I’m sorry, I have to leave.”
She reaches for my hand. “No, don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“Why? Because of Jacob?”
“Yes. No. Yes! I just… I just can’t be in the same room as him.”
“Rosie, please don’t go,” she pleads, seeing my distress. She wants to make right whatever she thinks is happening, but she has no clue to the extent of pain that’s been dredged up just by seeing his face.
“I have to go.” Grabbing my jacket, I wrap it around my shoulders and head to the door.
“Rosie, wait,” Jacob calls, and I know the whole room has stopped what they’re doing to watch the soap opera unfold.
Ignoring him, I push through the restaurant door and hit the street, my legs working overtime to get me as far away as possible.
“Rosie,” he calls again.
“What?” I yell, spinning on my heel to face him. He’s closer than I expect him to be, already practically in my lap. “What the hell can you possibly have to say to me after all this time, Jacob? What, huh?”
He goes to answer but unlike me, he appears lost for words, almost as if he’s staring at a ghost. “It’s good to see you,” he finally says, the five words completely catching me off guard.
I laugh incredulously while taking
a step back ready to put as much distance as possible between Jacob Lynch and me. “Yeah? Well… it’s not good to see you.”
~
Despite already emptying my first bottle of wine, I’m still trembling, my stomach twisting into over-zealous boy scout knots. Glaring at the rapidly depleting second bottle, I wish I’d thought ahead and grabbed a third. Swiping the glass off the counter, I resume my pacing, mumbling under my breath at how life can go fuck itself. And Jacob fucking Lynch can go fuck himself while he’s at it.
Son of a bitch!
Except his mother isn’t a bitch. She’s a fucking angel.
Stupid… motherfucker!
Nope, that’s even worse.
The anger I feel at seeing him again has now morphed into green Hulk mode with the fact that I can’t think of a suitable cuss name to call him while I pace out my rage.
“How can you allow this to happen?” I ask the world. “Is this some sort of joke to you? Is this a ‘Hey, we haven’t fucked with Rosie Reign in a while. Sic the Hellhounds, a.k.a. Jacob Lynch, onto her!’ type of bullshit? ‘Cause I’m not interested. Do you hear me?” I yell, looking up at the ceiling like somehow the world is going to deliver me an answer. My high-heel tip snags the corner of the rug, causing me to stumble and lose balance, wine spilling over my hand. “Don’t you start on me,” I warn, slumping onto the couch to remove my suddenly painful stilettos.
My cell chimes, so I swipe it off the coffee table and narrow my eyes to view the name, blinking twice to clear the drunken blur.
Vicki: Babe, are you okay?
Me: Fine.
Vicki: I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you two know each other. Seriously fucking bizarre. Want me to come over?
Me: No. Just want this night to be over.
Me: Vicki?
Vicki: Yeah, babe?
Me: I can’t be your maid of honor. I’m sorry.
I let my cell fall to the floor, my eyes growing heavy as tears overflow. My anger has given way to a treacherous grief I tried burying years ago. I can’t think of Jacob without thinking of losing my father. The two scenarios are so entwined, it’s suffocating, forcing me back to a place when I almost lost myself. A time in my life when I hurt so badly, I wanted nothing more than to die. I crawl over to the table between the couches and take the photograph of my father I’ve carried around with me since his funeral.
A sob explodes from my chest, crippling me as I rock back and forth, holding the picture close to my heart. Seeing Jacob again, combined with a night of over-drinking, has dug up the box of emotions I laid to rest years ago.
I didn’t lay them to rest because I wanted to. But because it simply hurt too much to continue carrying them around with me. But now? It’s game on. The hurt, the pain, the suffering, it all erupts like a volatile volcano, and there’s no stopping it now.
“Why did he come back, Dad? Why did he come back and you didn’t?” I choke the words out because it feels like I have a giant fist jammed down my throat.
My grief battles with anger once again when my cell chimes.
Vicki: Whatever it is, we can sort this out. How badly could this guy have hurt you? All I’m saying is no rash decisions.
How badly?
I scowl at the message like it can see me. Placing Dad back on the table, I take a few more gulps of wine before doing something I haven’t done in almost ten years. I don’t care if it’s not his number anymore. I don’t care if he stopped answering back from this number the day he left town. Scrolling through my contact list, I find his name, my heart pounding at the sight of it.
I type the message hoping it will make me feel even the slightest bit better. But when I hit send, the message falls in line with fifteen unanswered others I’d sent ten years ago.
I don’t feel any better.
I just feel like I’m further infecting a wound.
Staring at the message, I sloppily finish the rest of my wine. Instantly, I’m riddled with regret and not just because brunch is scheduled tomorrow and I’m going to have a wicked hangover, but because I wish I could take back what I’ve written. It’s not like he’ll ever see it but putting it out there in the world makes it somewhat real.
But those eight words will sit in limbo, a purgatory, just like my heart.
I hate how much I still love you.
~
“You look like shit,” Jase says, grinning from ear to ear as I walk through the stunning Victorian home his parents bought he and Vicki as an early wedding gift. “After what Vicki told me, I was certain we wouldn’t see you today.”
I frown, confused, the motion welcoming another wave of agony. Putting on my darkest sunglasses to block out the sun, and my hideous—morning after seeing the biggest asshole to walk in and out of my life—face.
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” I ask using the kitchen counter to balance while dodging a caterer.
“Because you told Vicki to find another maid of honor.”
“Oh!”
“And because you were quite explicit in what you wanted to do to Jacob.”
Hmmm… I don’t recall that part. Please God, don’t let me have said anything sexual.
“So, him being here isn’t just a nightmare?”
“Oh, he’s here all right.” Jase points out the folding French doors to where Jacob is practically being smothered by an overly flirtatious and stunning Amber. God, he looks divine. In navy blue shorts and white collared shirt rolled to his elbows, he shows off tanned, corded forearms and perfectly muscled calves.
“Dammit,” I curse. Swiping a wine glass of iced water from the passing server, I make to head out and join the others before stopping on the threshold. Turning back to Jase, who’s still smiling like idiot, I finally take the bait. “When you say explicit… what are we talking about exactly?”
He shrugs feigning indifference. “Oh, you know… first you were quite detailed in how you wanted to make him really suffer…” he smirks, “… through some very inventive and imaginative ways. I’m talking Game of Thrones type torture, I might add.”
Sounds about right, but I don’t like where this is going. “And then?”
“Well… let’s just say you gave Vicki and me some kinky ideas for the bedroom.”
Jesus Christ.
Shoot. Me. Now.
“You’re lying to me.”
Jase laughs. “We can go out now and ask Vicki if you like?”
“No! I believe you. Please tell me you haven’t have shown…”
“Jacob?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Rosie, you’ve never been so easy to tease. The answer is no, I haven’t shown him.”
“Thank you. Although I feel like this is going to be held against me for the rest of my life. There should be a clause that whatever is said or done when drunk cannot be used as blackmail.”
“You have my word, he’ll never see or hear a word of it.”
His tone tells me there’s a condition attached. “But?”
“All bets are off if you feel like you can’t be a part of the wedding party anymore because of him.”
I nod, feeling my throat constrict. I woke not only hungover and dehydrated, but my eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, my face puffy and tired.
“Hey,” Jase’s tone softens, all jokes aside as he places a reassuring hand on my mine. “I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but I can see you’re hurting, Rosie. Perhaps there’s a reason why Jacob has re-entered your life after so long. Perhaps there’s some healing to be had.”
I shake my head adamantly. “Not going to happen.”
“Well,” he says, handing me a platter of delicately cut sandwiches. “I don’t think the universe agrees with you on that. Come on.”
Jase heads out the door to join the rest of the bridal party while I consider running back out the way I came, but with the sandwiches. Sucking in a deep breath of ‘man the fuck up,’ I follow Jase down the marble steps and onto the lawn.
I greet
the other party guests with a smile because that’s all I can manage before handing over the platter to a server. Feeling awkward with nothing in my hands, I swipe a champagne glass off a passing tray and down half of it like it’s water. If I make the next three weeks without becoming an alcoholic, I’ll be doing well.
“Rosie,” Vicki calls, drawing Jacob’s attention. I feel his gaze on me which lasts longer than it should. Leaving her conversation with Katy, Vicki fast steps over, blocking Jacob’s view. My heart thuds painfully, my skin flushing, and I feel like I could easily faint. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to still be my main ho,” she says wrapping her arms around me. She squeezes me tightly before holding me at an arm’s distance. “Even hungover you still look gorgeous.”
“Your husband-to-be says I look like shit.”
“And he can be more ass than class.” Her playful jibe at her future husband’s expense makes me laugh. “Everyone’s all in the same boat. Well…” she nods over her shoulder toward Jacob, “… almost everyone. Rosie, you should go speak with him.”
“No.”
“You two are going to be seeing a lot of each over the next few weeks.”
“I can avoid him.”
“Even staying in the same house at one point?”
Dammit. She’s right.
“Babe,” Vicki says gently. “He’s a good guy. Whatever you’re experiencing, he’s probably going through something also.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Well, that’s why you should talk to him.”
“Vic, with all due respect, please understand that I simply can’t. Not now. Not ever. For the sake of your wedding, I’ll keep the peace, but please don’t push me into something I’m uncomfortable with.”
Her eyes glisten because she can hear the emotion in my voice. “Okay, babe. I promise. I won’t push you. Why don’t you come over and—”
“I’m just going to go back to the house and freshen up. I won’t be long.” I’m already taking a few steps back which changes her reply.